


In the World of Balance (on a knife’s edge)

by bauble



Series: A Noble Waltz, Unmoored [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24402070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauble/pseuds/bauble
Summary: Gladio and Ignis talk in the days leading up to their departure from the Crown City.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Series: A Noble Waltz, Unmoored [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748872
Comments: 11
Kudos: 31





	In the World of Balance (on a knife’s edge)

**Author's Note:**

> Set shortly before the game begins.

There’s a crack in the ceiling. Gladio props his head up on his arms and squints, wonders if it’s new. He should probably get someone to check it before he goes. Gods know how long they’ll be away and the last thing he wants to come to back to is a collapsed bedroom ceiling.

At least there wouldn’t be much to damage. The room’s empty aside from a bed, a lamp, and a dresser. He’s never gotten around to decorating, a fact Iris is always giving him grief about. She keeps bringing random things over: a moogle alarm clock, a black rag-rug, a book that once belonged to their mother. Insists that they make the place more ‘homey.’

He doesn’t disagree, but he’s barely ever there. And most of that time isn’t spent looking at the inside of his apartment; he likes to sit in the big bay windows, watch the hustle and bustle of the streets below. The Market District hums with shoppers during the day, teems with night-market food vendors in the evening. The view was half the reason he chose the place. 

Ignis returns from the bathroom mostly dry and half-dressed, which is a shame. Another round would have been nice. The Citadel’s been a frantic whirlwind since treaty negotiations, the entire court making preparations at a grueling pace. 

But now the terms of the truce are set. The time for meetings is done.

“You ever get sick of this shit?” The words spill out of Gladio’s mouth before he can stop them. Not great for the afterglow, but no taking them back now. 

Ignis pauses in rebuttoning his shirt. “What shit, precisely?”

“The fact that we haven’t had a day off in months.” Gladio kicks at the sheets tangled around his legs. “The fact that it’s the weekend, but I just got off a sixteen-hour shift and you gotta hurry back to start your sixteen-hour shift.”

“A sixteen-hour shift with rather suspicious stains on my trousers,” Ignis says, pulling at the material around his knees with an air of resignation. The discoloration is subtle, barely visible unless you’re looking for it. “I should start bringing a change of clothing.”

“Ignis.” Gladio isn’t flirting. He’s breaking the rules.

“Gladio,” Ignis replies, with an arch of one elegant brow. His gaze sweeps the length of Gladio’s naked body with not-inconsiderable interest.

It’d be easy to invite Ignis back to bed, to kiss that wicked smile and forget everything that’s happening for a little while. Gladio’s fingers itch to. But for some reason, he keeps—talking. “The Nifs have been trying to conquer all of Eos for over a century. Now we’re supposed to believe they’re interested in peace?”

“I thought we agreed not to talk about work during our liaisons?” Ignis says as he picks his jacket off the floor, shakes out the wrinkles. Liaisons; only Ignis could make ‘meeting to fool around’ sound dignified.

“Under normal circumstances, sure.” Gladio swings his legs out to dangle over the side of the mattress. “But we’re apparently going on a roadtrip together in three days. I think it might merit a discussion.”

“As the Prince’s retinue, our first responsibility will be assisting Noctis in achieving his objectives,” Ignis says. “This isn’t a holiday joyride.”

“Is that how it’s gonna be on the trip?” Gladio leans forward to prop his elbows on his knees. The change in position shifts the bandage on his chest, irritates the tender skin underneath.

“You are still an advocate of discretion, are you not?” Ignis picks his belt up off the nightstand and slides it around his waist. “So long as our arrangement does not distract from our duties, I foresee no difficulties. It should take less than a week to drive to Galdin Quay and secure a ferry to Altissia. If all goes according to plan—"

“If all goes according to plan, we’ll land in enemy territory with a car, a prince, and some guy he’s buddies with,” Gladio interrupts. “Instead of being here to defend the Crown City from the Nifs.”

“We guard the future King of Lucis, wherever he might be. Therefore, our place is by the Prince’s side, not in Insomnia.” Ignis finishes buckling his belt. “If the Empire intends to violate the peace treaty, surely they will wait until after the wedding.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Gladio tips his head back. The crack in the ceiling seems to have grown, somehow. “After Noct gets hitched, when are we gonna be able to come back?”

Ignis exhales. “I don’t know. I hope… soon.”

Soon. Soon enough to protect the city? Protect Iris? “My father scheduled a family dinner for tomorrow.” Gladio shakes his head. “It’s spooked my sister. We haven’t done one of those in years.”

Ignis takes a seat on the edge of the bed, a few feet away. “I’ve arranged a lunch with my uncle. Cocktails with a few friends.”

Outside, the sun is sinking. The Citadel casts a long shadow over the restaurants, the stores, the people below. “Does it feel like goodbye to you, too?”

“I think we both always knew this day might come.” Ignis pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We’ve been preparing our whole lives for it, haven’t we?”

“It’s the Amicitia family trade.” Gladio glances around the bare corners of the room, thinks about what he’ll bring with him. Not much, probably. “Shield of the Crown, no matter where they might roam.”

Ignis glances over, sidelong. “Your tattoo is finished?”

Gladio looks down at his chest, skin puffy and red underneath the bandage. “Yeah. Just in time.”

“May I?” Ignis gestures at the bandage, and after a moment, Gladio nods. Ignis peels it back with a delicate touch, revealing the last of the design. Months of tattoo sessions and recovery, of lotion and sleeping on his stomach. “It is truly remarkable,” Ignis murmurs. “A work of art.”

“My father was planning a ceremony to mark its completion.” Gladio lifts one shoulder. “Those plans are shot. Obviously.”

“Perhaps when we return,” Ignis says. A comforting lie. Nice of him to make the attempt.

“It’s okay.” Gladio balls up the bandage in his fist. “Probably would have been nothing but dull speeches anyway.”

Ignis stands again, slips his jacket on. He’s broadened since they’ve known each other, grown more handsome than pretty. It’s been four years they’ve been blowing off steam together and they’ve never once talked like this. Gladio wonders what it means.

“Do you believe in the prophecy?” At Gladio’s blink, Ignis elaborates, “That Noctis is the Chosen one?”

“I don’t know,” Gladio replies. “The paintings are nice, but I’m not sure how much stock I put in a cryptic message that’s gone through a two-thousand-year game of telephone.”

“But you’ve become a Shield. You’ve chosen to bind your life to Noctis.”

“The Amicitia family has but one duty: to safeguard and support the king,” Gladio says, an echo of the words his father has told him since he was small. “Whether the prophecy is literally true or just a fable doesn’t matter. I’ll protect Noctis no matter what.”

Ignis stares at him, searching. “Do you think he’s ready?”

Ready for what, specifically, Gladio could evade. But he knows what Ignis is asking. He knows his own answer. Gladio walks to the trash can and tosses the wadded-up bandage into it. “No.”

After a minute of quiet, Ignis nods, almost more to himself than Gladio. “To answer to your original question: yes. Sometimes I want to board up the windows and curse the gods until my voice gives out.” Ignis takes off his glasses to wipe them clean. Without them on, he looks strangely young. “Then I remember that little boy who learned how to walk again after a daemon attack. Who hates vegetables and loves animals and is willing to enter into a treaty marriage for the sake of his country.” 

Gladio looks out the window. It’s growing darker, streetlights coming on. “You ever think about doing something else? Selling Cup Noodles out of the back of a truck sounds pretty good right about now.”

Ignis smiles faintly. “Imagine the lives we could lead as a tailor and cobbler. A restaurant chef and a maitre’d.”

“A couple of attractive strangers.” About to walk through the night-market and burn their tongues on too-hot street food, Gladio doesn’t add. About to kiss in a café, oblivious to politics, and prophecies, and princes.

“Attracted strangers.” Ignis closes his eyes. “Another life.”

Gladio reaches over to brush a stray hair from Ignis’ face. He’s fully dressed and presentable again. Ready to return to the Citadel. “Another life.”

fin


End file.
